Screeches and wails echoed in her cabin. Sarah sat straight up in bed. Her heart pummeled her ribs. She glanced around and couldn't see anything in the dark. A cold, denseness whizzed by her head. Shaking, she raised her hands to cover her ears.
The horrid spirits lashed out at her. Thin, wiggling snake-like mist clamped onto her hair, yanking hard; the things pulled several strands loose from her braid. Other finger-like tendrils of the mist poked at her face and arms, with talon like claws, while more pinched her legs, leaving bruises and whelps upon her tender skin.
Strange voices mixed with the chaos. Their words slurred, and she tried to make out what they were saying. There were too many noises drowning out anything she could understand. Where did they come from? How did they come to the cabin? Was there a way to reason with them? To help them move somewhere else? The questions escaped her mind as she struggled to free herself from the torture.
Their maddening gropes tugged at her blankets and nightgown. The squeals sent repulsive shivers through her. She shimmied her way to the edge of the bed. Once on the floor, she attempted to crawl under the bed. One of the masses grabbed her legs. She kicked with all her might, trying to free herself from its cold clutches. Her assailant let out an eerie laugh as it pulled her across the floor.
She dug her fingernails into the hard wood floor. Her fingertips burned as if she had stuck them into a blazing hot fire. The nails pulled back from her fingers at the force of trying to catch hold of anything she could wrap her grip around. Marks from her efforts trailed across the floor in droplets of crimson.
Her nightgown bunched under her stomach as her body moved across the floor. Bone-chilling cold wrapped around her legs as if bound by an invisible rope. She cried out in pain as one of the tormenters pressed her toes towards the tops of her feet. They were merciless in their tirade, and she had no way out, but she wouldn't give them satisfaction of relenting to their devious nature.
Sarah renewed her fight. Twisting and turning, the spirit tightened its grip around her legs. She no longer held in her screams. Her cries intensified and mixed with the heinous noises above. Shudders racked her body with a fierceness she had never experienced before. Swinging her arms in the blackness, she hoped she would make contact with one of the evil, earthbound beings.
Thunderous thumps echoed in her ears as her heart pulsed rapidly. Tears streamed down her raw cheeks, blinding her vision at times as she tried to glance around for something to protect herself. What could she use to fend off the monsters attacking her? Her pleas went unheard from the noise of the spirits.
The room was icy cold. More shrieks added to the muddle, and she wasn't sure if they came from her or from something else. She tried to stand, but failed as another unwanted visitor pressed down on her chest, pinning her to the floor. Her breath stilled in her lungs. The wretched fingers of the unknown twisted in her hair.
The aches in her arms and legs began to take its toll on her limbs. She would pull in her last breath before she would admit defeat to the creatures. Her life was hanging in the balance of here and the other world, or whatever world they were trying to pull her into. Sarah refused to let her mind go there.
All concept of time was lost to her as her mind reeled in the insanity. Her arms and legs grew weaker. She continued to fight until the wee hours of the morning when the ghosts disappeared as quickly as they had appeared. A nasty stench of rotten flesh and dried blood lingered in the air.
Dragging herself to the wall, she leaned up against it. Tears ran down her cheeks, sobs escaped between her labored breaths. She glanced at her ripped nightgown. Under the shreds of material, she rubbed the stinging scratches left on her skin by her assailants.
Her bruised and sore body cried out in pain as she made her way to the kitchen. Tangled wads of hair fell across her face. She swiped at her raw cheeks and grimaced. The tips of her fingers burned from trying to stop herself from being drug across the floor. Her shoulders weighed down as if a boulder had been shoved upon them.
Try as she might, she couldn't cheer herself up during the day. She walked through the day as if she were a puppet on a string. Her chores became harder to accomplish with her diminishing state of mind. The only times she felt truly safe was her daily trips up the hill to the cemetery. The evil spirits tugged at her mind, always pulling her back to her own cabin.
The thought of midnight rolling around stood the hairs on the back of her neck. The days turned into short burst of sunlight, while the nights turned into long, grueling, cold darkness.
****
It had been two weeks since her mother died. Somehow awful things had happened. She was so distraught that she wasn't sure how she had made it up the hill to water the rose bushes and pay her respect to her deceased love ones. Now it all seemed as if it had been a blur. She ran her hand down her face and glanced at the sky.
The full moon hid behind the gray clouds. Sarah bent over her cast iron caldron and murmured. "Creator of darkness, creator of light. Bring back happiness in my life. Rid this evil from my home, give me joy wherever I roam." She raised her arms in the air and glanced skyward.
Several bolts of lightning flashed across the sky. The area became lit with uncanny brilliance. A loud clap of thunder echoed on the cold April night. Shivers ran the length of her body. Weakness in her legs threatened to drop her to her knees. None of the spells she had tried to cast before had worked. As she glared at the display overhead, she couldn't help but hope this one would. The storm played in the sky, skimming across the plains until it hit the small farm Sarah owned.
Sarah leaned on the porch rails. She clenched her hair in her fist. If only Shining Moon was here to help. He would know what to do.
Don't be foolish, Sarah. You know he would think you had gone around the bend of insanity. Her heart pounded against her rib cage. The comfort of his strong arms to hold her and his massive shoulders to cry on would help the night seem easier.
Besides, Shining Moon wouldn't be out in weather like this. The tall, stalwart Indian was much too important to his tribe. He had befriended her, and she was thankful for that kindness. While her mother was still alive, he had made daily visits to check on them. Sarah had opened up her heart to him in friendship, unsure if she was ready for more than that. As time passed, she realized she cared for the man and depended on him more with the passage of time.
She glanced toward the hill where he appeared daily. It was void of his silhouette. Her heart plummeted to the depths of her queasy stomach. Even when she tried to occupy her mind with thoughts of Shining Moon, the beastly burdens of midnight hauntings invaded the memories.
Her body shook, and tears streamed down her raw cheeks. She grabbed her pillow and blankets, and then walked to the barn. The sun would come up soon. Sarah's mind swirled as she fought the battle of sleeplessness. "Just a few hours of sleep, that's all I ask, just a few hours," she whispered into the dark as she tried to close her eyes. The thunder roared and she covered her ears and clenched her eyes shut. Nothing she tried lessened the brutality of the storm.
She couldn't work up enough courage to re-enter her cabin. The ghosts had taken over. Yet every night she prayed they would stop. She couldn't bear to think they were winning the crazy battle they had started. The storm was easier to face than the spirits in her cabin.
Sarah's mind drifted so often she wasn't sure she could rely on her own thoughts. Were they real or were they conjured by the ghosts? Things got out of hand quicker than she thought possible. She shook her head and clenched her eyes. The things visiting her nightly since her siblings left seemed to be on a mission. The mission was to drive her crazy.
Too many thoughts of the spirits roamed around freely in her mind. She trusted nothing or no one with her inner-most secrets for fear she would be locked away. Yet the marks on her back should prove she couldn't have put them there herself. Not many people believed ghosts appeared out of thin air, and the spirits haunting her had done just that. The people who believed in ghouls thought witches brought them on. A proper person would never participate in such rituals.
Hail pummeled what was left of the neglected roof, sending down slivers of wood and ice pellets. Sarah hunkered down deeper into the hay, the blanket clenched in her white-knuckled fist. She hugged her pillow to her chest.
A wretched shudder ran the length of her body, as the mournful wind howled through the wooden slats of the old barn walls. It reminded her of the wild banshees her mother told her about when Sarah was a small child.
The storm raged on. Boards flew off the sides of the dark barn, and Sarah jumped at every thud, as they slammed against outside walls. Hay swirled in the air, sparkling in the glow of lightning strikes like little golden needles. Dust overpowered her lungs and hung so thick in the air that Sarah could barely see past her arms when the bolts flashed. The thunder roaring overhead reminded her of trains, with vibrations jarring her bones until they ached. Wet, scared, cold, and alone, Sarah stood to find a drier spot to rest.
"Move over, Miss Betsy." She wandered aimlessly passed the jersey milk cow. As Miss Betsy swatted her tail, Sarah arched her back at the sting. It didn't matter to her because all she could think about was sleep.
In the corner of Miss Betsy's stall, Sarah lowered herself into a small pile of dry hay, and settled down for a few hours of peace. Silent tears slid down her cheeks, soaking the feather pillow under her head, until she cried herself to sleep.
Slivers of sunshine peeked through the cracks in the barn door. Sarah squinted into the brightness and then wiped her eyes. She tried hard to put a smile on her face, but found it difficult with the overwhelming nightmares still vivid in her mind. The first few days after the ghosts started their assaults, she wondered if they were real or not.
It had been weeks now, and she knew they were real. New claw marks appeared on her body along with fresh bruises, mixing with the old ones. She knew she couldn't give in to the spirits, but she wondered how long she could fight against them by herself. Nothing she had tried worked to rid her cabin of the nightly visits. She couldn't remember prayers her mother had used for healings. However, she wasn't convinced any of those would work to solve her problem. It was far bigger than praying over someone to mend an illness. She needed something strong and quick to conquer her enemies.
Sarah dragged her feet on the walk to her cabin, and she opened the door little by little. Peering into darkness, her eyes darted nervously about. Although the spirits always disappeared during the day, she didn't trust not being woken up by the menacing noises, pokes, and scratches. She braced herself for another attack and then stepped inside. With the door open for the light to shine in, she cautiously crept to the windows to open the shutters. Nothing evil or menacing was in the cabin now. With a sigh of relief, Sarah bent to toss logs into the wood burning stove and lit the fire. Her arm ached as she lifted the kettle full of water and placed it on the burner to boil.
Her slow steps from the stove to the table took a lot of her energy. Sarah slid into the chair. She lay her head on her folded arms upon the table. With heavy eyelids, she fought to keep them open. She tried to think on happier times. Now, those times were nothing but faded memories replaced by horrid nightmares living within her cabin. To have a nice dream was all she could hope for.
The whistling pot startled her awake. She hadn't realized she had fallen asleep until the noise caused her to jerk her head from the table. The hot handle burned into her flesh when she grasped it to remove the screaming kettle from the heat. Covering her chest with one hand and swiping her tangled hair from her face with the other, she worked hard to convince herself to calm down.
She reached her shaking hand into the cupboard and pulled out a cup. Going to the tin where she kept her tea, she took a few pinches of loose tea and dropped it in the bottom of the cup. Hot water sloshed as she poured it in to make tea.
Fretful of unwelcome guests, she took her tea to the porch. Slumping into the rocker next to the door, she sipped it down. She inhaled a deep breath. The atmosphere had calmed her, and a slightly cool breeze raced across the porch. Within a few minutes, she knew it would be time to milk Miss Betsy. With pail in hand, she started for the barn.
Brown fuzzy-faced chickens followed her at a run, chasing anything that could possibly be food. Sarah entered the barn. Her skirt stirred up the dirt behind her. Too tired to be amused, she did the chores and carried her milk and eggs back to her house. Casting her weary body upon the bed, she waited for more wicked noises and voices to haunt her daytime dreams as well as the night.
A splash, splash, splash of a horse's hooves sloshed against the wet ground and drew close to her cabin. Sarah peered out of the window to watch Shining Moon stop his horse in front of her cabin. With a few swipes of her hand, she smoothed her wrinkled blouse and skirt the best she could. As she stepped out onto the porch, she raised her hand and ran it through her unkempt hair.
"Shining Moon, what brings you here on this beautiful day?" Her heart thundered like last night's storm at the sight of him. Fighting to slow her nerves from jumping off the edge of no return, Sarah tried to hide the effects caused by the war of the ghost that haunted her nightly.
"I wanted to check on you after the storm last night. Lot of destruction in the area." His gaze penetrated her soul. She lowered her head.
"The wind tried to tear the barn down." She nodded to the tattered barn.
"You look tired, Sweet Sarah. Are you feeling well?" Shining Moon's genuine concern showed on his face. He slid easily from his horse and moved toward her.
"I'm afraid the loss of Mother and trying to catch up on the farm has caught up with me. I'm alright, really. Thanks for asking." She hated the lie. Yet it wasn't all a lie, most of her troubles had come from the spirits. Her heart picked up a pace as he neared. The fresh, clean air and herbs radiated from his well-toned frame.
"Lie down and rest a minute, Sweet Sarah." Shining Moon's insistence broke into her thoughts.
"I said I am fine. What do you want from me? I have work to be done, so state your business and go," Sarah pinned a glare at Shining Moon. She didn't understand why he was making a big fuss out of something he knew nothing about. After all, he was a wise man and the doctor in his village. What made him think he could waltz into her world and tell her what to do?
Mounting his horse, Shining Moon took one more glance at Sarah. The muscles of his chest flexed, as he turned the palomino paint stallion and rode away. Sarah drew in a long breath. When he was out of sight, she returned to her bed in the cabin. Why had she been so harsh to Shining Moon? He didn't do anything except express his concerns. She knew she had feelings for the man. She just couldn't quite figure them out. Because of those feelings, she didn't want him to think she was crazy.
However, she had made a spectacle of herself when she sent him away. Her heart clenched. If she would have allowed Shining Moon to stay, she was certain she would go to him. She couldn't risk his knowing about the spirits. He would think she was crazy. Especially since the menacing ghosts drew strength from the storms.
A vision of her throwing herself into his arms, kissing him passionately… Would he even accept her if he knew about the spirits?
Lost in thought, she remembered back before the faceless ghosts started visiting her. She knew they were put there by someone, somehow, but she just didn't know who or why. Her eyes clouded with images from the past.
****
Shining Moon stopped at the top of the hill. He glanced back at Sarah's house. He didn't like the aura surrounding her. It had changed from the healing, compassionate turquoise color to a dirty brown overlay, indicating insecurity. His Sweet Sarah was now soured from whatever was tormenting her. How could he explain to her sons what was happening to her when he didn't even know himself? All he could rely on was the auras she presented. The boys may not understand what all that entailed.
Being a shaman, he had been trained in many things. While he could read the outside of a body, the inside of the mind was closed off to his abilities. As far as he could tell, there were no diseases possessing his woman.
He shook his head. Since when had Sweet Sarah become his woman? Just the sight of her had struck a pleasant kind of fear in him. Fear of his own emotions, of the way his body longed to be near her every breathing moment of his life upon this earth. To protect her from any harm. His stomach contracted, twisting into a tight knot of failure.
This thing that had control of her was obviously not from flesh and bone. It was more from some kind of emotional torment that hounded her. He knew she shouldn't feel guilty over the death of her mother. He had coached her many times on how to accept the inevitable or things humans have no control over.
There had been many days when Sweet Sarah was worn down from the stress that it took to watch over her mother. Whatever stress she was under now was far worse than anything she had ever talked about. She chose to close him off and deal with this on her own, and he admired her for that. Yet why couldn't she see that she didn't have to?
With a squeeze of his legs, his horse started toward his village. He stopped several times and slid from the horse's back. Replacing the herbs he had used on his nephew, he also gathered a few that he could use to make Sarah a relaxing tea. She loved her teatime. But her words made him doubt she would take it from him.
He knew her harshness was only meant to keep him away. The confusion and pleas displayed in her eyes beckoned him to understand. He was trying, but nothing significant came to mind as to why or what she was going through. Her spirit seemed as if it were being toyed with. If she refused to tell him anything, he couldn't venture a guess as to an answer. His mind would be at ease if she would open up to him. Maybe he would be able to help in some way.
Trusting him had never been an issue before, so why wouldn't she trust him now? He hadn't done anything to misguide her, nor had she him. There wasn't another man or woman forcing her to sever their relationship.
As he collected his herbs, he came across a milkweed with a nest full of eggs below. It was a sign. Early in the morning, he would go milk Miss Betsy and gather the eggs before Sweet Sarah crawled out of bed. Hopefully, it would ease some of the stress from her mangled mind. He would also leave some of the herbs for her calming tea and pray she would use them.
Shining Moon mounted his horse and rode off to his village. He prepared the poultice and pain relieving tea for Standing on Edge. Ducking through the lodge opening, he sauntered to his sister's lodge. After tending to his nephew, he walked to the burial site of his wife and child. The deep, dark void he used to feel had been replaced long ago. There was no doubt in his mind that he had once loved them. Now everything had passed from her death to his life with Sarah. The spirits of his loved ones seemed at peace with him.
He lingered in the area for a few moments. The sun beat down upon his head and back. A whirlwind wiggled from the ground, heavenward. A few early spring birds twittered. A slight wind crossed the tops of the grass. It wasn't often he came to this place. In his mind, it reflected the pain and sorrow his tribe had endured.
The white men had chased his tribe for years. They tried to herd them to reservations where the men were not allowed to hunt. They killed the buffalo for sport and not food. The Indians would have used everything of the bison. The hearts of his people hurt when there was no food to feed their families.
Diseases had been brought in by the men at the forts. Shining Moon's wife was young and frail when she died. The baby didn't have much of a chance after nursing tainted milk from its mother.
Shining Moon tried not to dwell on these things. He wanted to forget how his wife suffered. Thinking about Sweet Sarah, he shook the bad memories aside. Almost in a calm, soothing way, today they seemed refreshed with the arrival of spring.
Leisurely he walked back to camp. Could his Sweet Sarah be experiencing what the white man call "cabin fever?" From what he understood, there was no fever to it. Cord said it was caused from being confined inside all winter and wanting to get out into the fresh air. Sarah hadn't been held inside her cabin. She was free to go wherever she chose.
A low chuckle escaped his throat. Once, when Cord had come to visit his mother, she had caught his cheeks between her hands and rubbed her lips across Cords. When Shining Moon asked him about it, Cord explained the different kinds of kisses to him. He had said the one she passed to Cord was of the motherly nature. The one she would press upon Shining Moon's lips would be sweet and tempt a man's soul.
Shining Moon thought he was ready for his soul to be tempted by the rosy pink lips of Sweet Sarah. Each time they touched, a bolt of lightning shot up his arm to pierce his heart. Would their lips melt together? Cord said the taste of a woman's lips was more intoxicating than firewater. Would he stagger and fall to the ground in a giggling fit? He didn't know, but if that was the way he reacted, he would make himself stay away after the first one.
The ways of the white men were strange to him. Some things were good, some not so good. If it brought him closer to Sweet Sarah, he was willing to try anything. His only problem was getting close enough to try out the kissing. What if he didn't do it right and she laughed at him? How would his heart react to that? Would his mind dive into the pull of the caressing sound of her voice or would his heart ache with such pain and humiliation he would have to walk away and leave her memory behind?
****
With each passing night, Sarah braced herself for the onslaught of the humiliating spirits. Their pinching, shoving, and clutching her sent shivers down her spine. Cold, burning tentacles pierced her skin leaving whelps, scratches, and bruises to be discovered after the battles. They would pin her to the wall or floor and swarm around her head, taunting, screeching until she was sure she had lost her mind.
She should have called on Shining Moon when it all began. It was too late now. Her insecurities had won out over breaking her pride of thinking she could stop this alone. He would only dismiss her as she had him. It was all her fault. In some way, she had made the spirits mad. How was she to explain to the sweetest man, she was harboring demons in her home?